Too Many Late Nights
by arashierina
Summary: Sherlock is getting annoyed by how many late nights John spends at work, so he decides to visit him.


"Dammit, not again," John sighed as Sarah left him to sit alone in his office, stacks upon stacks of paperwork on his desk. He had to stay late. Again. Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have minded, hell, he really needed the money. But, after a particularly difficult case, John and Sherlock had made the jump from flatmates to lovers, and tonight was date night...at least, it was until Sarah had dropped off extra work for John. This was the third night in a row that he had to stay late, and the third night that he would have to tell Sherlock that he wasn't coming home until at least 3am. Sherlock, being his normal self, was getting increasingly frustrated, telling John to quit his job, or tell Sarah to piss off. John was taken completely aback as he learned over the past week that Sherlock took the 'honey-moon phase' to a new level. He was almost 100% positive that Sherlock was obsessed with sex, or just obsessed with John's body. John wrote it off as Sherlock still experimenting with things, he was new to these sensations.

John shook his head and pulled out his phone. He knew he had to text Sherlock, but he was hesitant, slightly afraid of how he would react.

_Sherlock, I'm stuck at the office again. I'll be home as soon as I can - JW_. John had barely put his phone down before he got a response.

_ How late? SH_

_ Hopefully by 3 _

_ That's too late, be back by 10_.

John looked at the time. 9:22.

_That's not possible. Too much work._

It took Sherlock a moment to respond, then,

_ I'll be there in ten._

_No, no you won't, Sherlock! I have to get this done!_

No response. _Shit_, John thought. What would Sherlock do when he got there? Drag John home? Get him fired? Or will he slam John on his desk, have his way with him? Oh god, John was getting turned on by this thought and shoved it away. John silently prayed that Sherlock wouldn't actually show up, and turned back to his work.

By the time there was a knock on the door, John had quite forgotten about Sherlock's threat. He jumped at the sound.

"Yes?" he called out. The door opened and in came...Sarah? John sighed with relief.

"John, Sherlock's here to talk to you?" she seemed confused. John could only imagine what he told her.

And, without waiting for a summons, Sherlock strolled easily into his office. He locked eyes with John, and John felt his heart beat increase.

"Thank you, Sarah. We will no longer be requiring your services," Sherlock said, shutting the door in her face. His eyes never left John's.

"Sherlock," John started as the taller man made his way closer to him. John could see the hungry look in those brilliant blue-grey eyes. John could only sit there as Sherlock came to tower over the doctor.

"Sherlock, not here-" John was cut off by a swift kiss from Sherlock. John gasped, and Sherlock deepened the kiss, pushing John back in his chair. Suddenly, there was a soft knock on the door, and Sherlock broke the contact to glare at the door angrily.

"Y-yes?" John called out, breathless. The handle started to turn, and Sherlock dove under the desk. It was Cynthia, an older woman who worked for Sarah.

"Sorry, dear, but I have some more paperwork for you." She was carrying at least 50 packets with her.

"Oh, it's fine," John said, glad his voice was back to normal. He stiffened as he felt his trouser zipper descend. Oh, he wouldn't _dare._

"Well then, this packet is-" long, warm fingers rubbing the bulge between his legs, making his hard, "-and these two-" his underwear was pulled down to his thighs, leaving him exposed, "...John? Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, Cynthia. My mind is just...else_where_," he practically shouted the end as Sherlock's hot mouth engulfed him.

"I-it's fine, dear," she stuttered, shocked at John's sudden outburst. She continued explaining the papers, and John could only nod, not even listening as it took all his willpower not to moan as he felt himself hit the back of Sherlock's throat. _Dammit Sherlock! I'm going to _kill _you after this!_

John must have completely stopped paying attention, because Cynthia had dropped off the packets and had made it to the door.

"Th-thank you," he choked out as Sherlock squeezed the base of John's shaft. Cynthia gave a small smile, then left.

"God dammit, Sherlock!" John yelled. He was just about ready to explode when suddenly, Sherlock's mouth was gone. He came out from under the desk, quickly went to the door, and locked it.

"No more interruptions," he growled, heading back to John.

"No, Sherlock. We are _not_ having sex in _my_ office!"

His only response was an evil grin from the taller man.

"Sherlock..." John warned. His warning went unheeded as Sherlock pushed John out of his chair and against the wall. John was very aware of his trousers and underwear that fell down to his ankles. Sherlock pressed his lips against John's, tongue darting out to explore the shorter man's mouth. John moaned Sherlock's name as his mouth traveled to the crook of John's neck.

"N-no," John gasped as his senses came back to him. He pushed at Sherlock, who released a growl from deep in his throat. John barely had a chance to realize how sexy that sound was before Sherlock moved quickly, slamming cold metal on his wrist. John looked down. A handcuff was dangling from his right wrist.

"Sh-Sherlock?" he asked, surprised. There was a manic gleam in Sherlock's eye before he spun John around, slamming his front into the wall and sliding the other handcuff onto his left, trapping John's hands behind his back. John shouldn't be surprised that Sherlock figured out one of his secret kinks.

Sherlock's mouth resumed it position on John's neck, biting, kissing, sucking. John moaned as Sherlock's hands traveled up under his shirt, his long fingers feeling along the muscles in his chest, then rubbing his nipples until they were erect.

"Sherlock," John whimpered, trying to somehow wriggle free of the taller man. John was enjoying this, but he really didn't want to have to explain this to Sarah, or Cynthia for that matter. Plus, he still had mounds of paperwork to get done.

"No talking," Sherlock commanded, his hands traveling agonizingly slow down John's front. "Right now, you are under my control, understand?" His hands grabbed John's length, stroking him slowly.

"Ah!" John gasped. He loved how Sherlock's hands worked, but he was getting slightly annoyed by how he was only teasing John, going as slow as possible. But, when John bucked his hips into Sherlock's hands, he let go on him, making John grunt angrily.

"I said, _I'm_ in control," Sherlock growled in John's ear, pitching his voice deeper. Somehow, the words made John even harder.

Sherlock then grabbed John my the arm, and all but threw him onto the desk, sending papers cascading to the ground. John was about to complain until he found Sherlock taking him in his mouth.

"A-ah! Sherlock!" John was being pinned down by Sherlock's hands, and he desperately _needed_ to thrust, buck, _move_ his hips in some way. Sherlock bobbed his head slowly, driving the older man insane.

"Sherlock, please," he begged, throwing his head back onto the desk. But Sherlock only punished him, going even slower. Was this punishment for talking? Or was this punishment for working too late? Finally, after a few more slow strokes with his tongue, Sherlock increased his speed. John gasped, moaning Sherlock's name, and finally released his seed in Sherlock's mouth. As John came down from his high, he opened his eyes and saw Sherlock standing over him, his clothes mysteriously gone.

"Sherlock? W-what are you-?" he was cut off by Sherlock flipping him onto his stomach.

He felt Sherlock leaned on top of him, his breath hot on his neck. "My turn," he muttered. John felt himself slowly becoming hard again. He lay there, unmoving, as Sherlock opened a small tub of lube. John shivered with anticipation as he heard the soft noises of Sherlock coating himself. He then pushed a still-lubed finger inside of John's entrance, moving slowly. John moaned as he pushed in another.

"Oh god, Sherlock. Hurry up and fuck me," John said, half moaning as Sherlock added a third digit and began scissoring his long fingers. At John's words, Sherlock pulled them out of John and replaced them with the tip of his cock.

Slowly, so painfully slow, Sherlock pushed himself inside of John. He paused only when he was fully sheathed inside, then slowly came back out, leaving only his head in.

As he slowly went back in, holding John down as he tried to move against him, he whispered, "Promise me no more late nights, John,"

"I-I can't," John stuttered, trying to press roughly into Sherlock, to get out from under the hands at the small of his back, the handcuffs digging into his wrists slightly. Sherlock pulled out slowly again, and stayed there.

"Promise me, John," Sherlock repeated. Before John could answer, Sherlock slammed roughly into John, summoning a loud moan from the man under him.

"Promise me." Sherlock slid out slowly again, only to ram back in.

"I-I promise!" John yelled, his voice breaking. Sherlock smirked, then violently slammed in and out of John. His hands left his back and went to John's member. He stroked him in sync with the thrusts of his hips. The entire desk was moving by the time John climaxed into Sherlock's hands. Sherlock thrust into John once, twice, three more times before filling him with his seed. Sherlock collapsed onto John's back, both of them panting heavily. Finally, Sherlock picked himself up, and pulled out of John. He rummaged in his clothes, grabbing a key from his pocket, and released John from his restraints. John pushed himself off the desk and looked at the mess they've made.

"Dammit, Sherlock!" Sherlock grinned in return.


End file.
